


Fragile and Fleeting

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Series: Nikhael Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Life in the Circle, M/M, Nikhael Trevelyan (OC), Ser Simon (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: For a prompt fill: "Azalea- fragile and ephemeral/fleeting passion,Jonquil- desire"In which Nikhael falls in more ways than one.





	Fragile and Fleeting

_Almost there._

The shelf is high, but Nikhael is tall, all limbs and neck that seem to sprout overnight, as if someone swapped his robes for someone else’s while he slept. He can see the book he wants - The Travels of a Chantry Scholar - and he can just reach it with his fingertips.

Normally, he would just climb down and push the rickety ladder in the Circle library two feet to the right, but today it’s jammed on the carpet… again.

Normally, he would just ask someone for help with the ladder, but today it’s early and there’s only one other person around.

Normally, he gets along better with the Templars than his Aunt Tori, but today there is only one Templar watching the library and Nikhael can’t ask him for help. In fact, to date, Nikhael Trevelyan has found himself unable to speak a single word to Ser Simon.

Ser Simon who is standing watch at the door, just out of sight. Ser Simon with the warm, round Starkhaven accent and the darkest eyes that Nikhael has ever seen. Ser Simon sings to himself when he’s on patrol and he thinks no one else is around, and he likes a lot of sugar in his tea, and there are a dozen other small things that Nikhael knows about him that he probably shouldn’t, but sometimes the other Templars tease him where someone might hear, and Nikhael has always been a listener.

They are all alone together in the library and that makes today anything but normal. It’s both the best and worst possible way to think of it, and it leaves Nikhael smiling to himself, even as his stomach twists at the idea of being alone anywhere with Ser Simon.

Nikhael shifts, setting one foot on the shelf to the right of the ladder. He manages to push the books apart so that he can just catch the binding of his prize. Furrowing his brows and pulling, little bit by little bit, he fiddles until the back end of the book is hanging over the edge. All he wanted to do this morning was to curl up in one of the window seats in the library and read until Aunt Tori comes to find him to practice, and every second spent doing this is a second less with the book, but now he’s close.

He’s so caught up in his efforts with the book that he doesn’t hear the soft singing and the scrape of armor until it’s too late.

“Do you need help, Trevelyan?”

Nikhael’s eyes go wide when he turns to look and Ser Simon is staring up at him with those same dark eyes and stubble that he ought to shave before the Knight-Commander sees him.

He shakes his head, more frantic than necessary for the situation, enough to match his racing heart at the sight of Ser Simon watching him. “N-No! No, I’m–”

Gravity wins out on the book first, then on Nikhael. The book falls in a simple arc, landing on its spine and opening to show a neatly drawn map. Nikhael falls with far less grace and more twirling arms and shouting when his foot slides off the bookshelf and he topples to the floor.

Or almost to the floor.

By some minor miracle he lands on his feet, but as the Maker works in awful and embarrassing ways sometimes, that minor miracle is Ser Simon catching him around the waist and breaking his fall. They each take a step in the momentum of it, Ser Simon moving back and Nikhael all but crashing into his breastplate.

“Your eyes really are that blue.”

“I’m so sorry!” Nikhael blurts out at the same second as Ser Simon makes his hushed observation. “I– _What?_ ”

Ser Simon’s hands are still on his waist, and he’s staring back at Nikhael with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. It looks an awful lot like the expression Nikhael is almost sure he’s wearing where he’s leaned against warm armor, one arm slung over Ser Simon’s shoulder.

“I was never sure if they were blue or violet,” Ser Simon mutters. His eyes flick down to Nikhael’s lips, then back up again. The tiny pink tip of his tongue darts out over his lower lip, and Nikhael goes hot-cold-hot at the sight of it, at the slow motion sweep of lashes as Ser Simon blinks.

“I have to go.” The sides of Nikhael’s waist are cool and too light when Ser Simon steps away, holding his hands up in front of him. “You got your book, you’re–” Ser Simon’s eyes flick down, then up again, taking in all of Nikhael this time. “I have to go,” he repeats, and Nikhael stands perfectly still, understanding and yet not, as Ser Simon turns and hurries out of the library.

Nikhael bends and collects the book from the floor. He hears a whispered conversation as the guard is changed, and his face burns up to his ears at the thought that he startled Ser Simon so much that he left. He probably stamped on the poor man’s foot and didn’t even notice. 

When he looks out around the corner of the bookshelf, Ser Melisant is there instead, with her crooked nose and cold grey eyes. She frowns at Nikhael when she sees him, shaking her head as if she knows how clumsy he’s been, and he hurries past her to the window seat with the best view, heat still on his cheeks. That’s not new; he spends a lot of time blushing and ducking his head and hiding from Templars.

He spends no more time with that now, however. Nor does he spend much time admiring the sky or the trees, or reading his book. Instead he brushes his fingers along his lower lip and cheekbone. Ser Simon noticed his eyes, has been thinking about what color they are. The thought fills him with butterflies, that someone so handsome would care about his eyes, or anything to do with him.

He wraps an arm around his body, setting his hand over the place where Ser Simon’s hand had rested, and groans inwardly. Aunt Tori is going to kill him when she finds out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can find more content here on AO3 and also [here on my tumblr!](http://gremlinquisitor.tumblr.com)


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